Seven Minutes in Heaven tlg-6 Page 4

  The house was almost completely dark. A flower-shaped night-light in the hallway to Nisha’s room gave off just enough illumination for Emma to navigate. Passing the gleaming bronze kitchen, she saw the remains of a week’s worth of takeout piled on the counters. Pizza boxes and Chinese containers towered precariously. A fly circled a half-eaten samosa on a ceramic plate. A fallen pint of Ben & Jerry’s sat in a puddle of melted Cherry Garcia.

  Emma had been in Nisha’s room once before, during her second week in Tucson. At the time Nisha had still been a suspect, and she’d snuck in during a tennis dinner to try to find clues. When she snapped on the light now she was surprised at how little it had changed since then. There was no sign of the mess Nisha’s killer had made—it looked like Dr. Banerjee had put everything straight. The purple bedspread was smooth, eight fluffy pillows propped at the head like an ad for a five-star hotel. All of her books were alphabetized on the shelves. The only evidence that someone had recently disturbed the room was a drawer with a broken front panel in the dresser. Otherwise it looked like Nisha could have just stepped outside.

  Emma stood uncertainly in the middle of the rug. She didn’t even know what she was looking for, much less where Nisha might have hidden it. She would just have to hope she’d know it when she saw it. While she glanced around, Agassi slunk in around the door and leapt lightly to the bed.

  Emma started with the dresser, looking through the neat stacks of sweaters and T-shirts, feeling at the back and under each drawer for a hidden compartment or a note taped out of sight. Nisha had kept her belongings color-coded and perfectly organized, and the sight of her pure white tennis socks arranged row by row sent a surge of grief through Emma. She got on her knees and examined the desk, felt under the bed, and even peeled back the rug on the floor. Nothing seemed out of place. She blew a lock of her hair out of her face and sighed heavily.

  Nisha kept her photos behind a glass panel near her headboard. Emma knelt in front of it, her eyes darting over the collage. Most of the pictures were of Nisha playing tennis. There were also a few of her with a woman Emma assumed was her mother, elegant in pearl earrings and burgundy lipstick, and several of Agassi looking glossy and well groomed.

  Then Emma noticed a new picture, one that hadn’t been there the last time. It was an older photograph, slightly crumpled, and unframed. It showed three little girls in ice skates, arm in arm and laughing so hard that one of the girls on the end—a tiny blonde girl with hair in pigtails—seemed about to fall. They all wore poofy party dresses, and the girl in the middle had a tiara tucked into her dark hair. It was Laurel, Nisha, and Sutton. Sutton had a tooth missing. A purple glittery star had been painted on one of her cheeks. Emma turned over the picture. It was dated April twentieth, with the words MY EIGHTH BIRTHDAY.

  Emma’s lips twisted downward. Once upon a time, Nisha had been friends with Sutton—or at least friendly enough to invite her to a birthday party, friendly enough to skate arm in arm with her. It looked like Nisha had put it up recently, after she’d started hanging out with Emma.

  For a moment I heard a distant sound of childish laughter echoing down the corridors of my memory. That day at the ice rink, Nisha and I had tried to teach ourselves some of the tricks we’d seen during the Olympics. Michelle Kwan made toe loops look so easy, but we spent most of our time falling flat on our butts and laughing at ourselves. I couldn’t remember why we’d ended up hating each other so much. Maybe it had just been that we were similar in all the wrong ways. We wanted the same things, and we were both willing to fight for them.

  Emma climbed back to her feet and sighed. If there had ever been any evidence here, it was already in the hands of the killer. After all, Sutton’s murderer had been a step ahead of her since she first arrived in Tucson. Why would this time be any different?

  She stood in the doorway, sweeping her gaze one more time around Nisha’s bedroom. Good-bye, Nisha, she thought. I’m so sorry you got pulled into this. She turned off the light and started the long walk back down the hallway. At the kitchen door she drew to a sudden stop, biting the corner of her lip. Then, impulsively, she went to the counter and started to gather the empty food containers. She found a roll of paper towels under the sink and wiped the counters down, then loaded the dishwasher, moving as quietly as she could. Somewhere in the house she could hear the low murmur of a television set.

  Then she stuffed the takeout boxes into a garbage bag and carried it with her, past the night-light, past the beautiful furniture and the brightly colored tapestries and the elegant vases and all the other things that Dr. Banerjee had shared, once upon a time, with his family—back into the darkness beyond.

  Good-bye, Nisha. I added my farewell to my sister’s. I promise, whoever did this to us is going to pay.

  5

  HER CHEATING HEART

  After the final bell rang the next day at school, Emma slowly gathered her books from her locker. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face the tennis team, not yet. It would be an emotional practice. Emma blinked away a tear, looking at her reflection in the tiny mirror inside Sutton’s locker. Pull it together, she commanded herself, and slammed the door shut. Then she did a double take.

  Thayer Vega was standing there, waiting to talk to her.

  My dead-girl heart gave a lurch at the sight of him. A gray henley shirt pulled tight across his muscular chest. His dark hair hung down over one eye, and his backpack was slung casually over his shoulder. Thayer had been the only boy I’d ever loved, the one person who really knew me.

  “Hey,” Emma said, hugging her books to her chest and giving him a shaky smile.

  In the past month, she and Thayer had started to establish a cautious friendship. He was a good listener, and when Becky showed up in Emma’s life again, he was one of the few people she felt safe telling. She’d started to think the two of them could put his relationship with Sutton behind them and be friends—until he kissed her at Charlotte’s party two weeks ago. She’d pulled away, but not before he had a chance to realize something was wrong. He’d confronted her two days later, saying he knew something was off about her; and while she’d managed to dismiss his accusations, she knew he was still suspicious.

  A wave of relief swept over her as she remembered Mrs. Mercer’s plea to keep the news about Becky’s other daughter a secret—if Thayer found out that Sutton had a long-lost twin, Emma had a feeling it wouldn’t take long for him to figure out who she really was.

  “Hey,” he said, hefting the backpack farther across his back. “Are you heading out to the courts?”

  “I’m not in any hurry,” she said, smiling ruefully. “It’s going to be like a second funeral.”

  “I get that.” He searched her face for a moment. “How are you holding up?”

  “Me? I’m okay.” Emma’s voice sounded too high in her ears, strained and anxious. He just looked at her.

  “Come on, I’ll walk with you to the locker rooms,” Thayer said.

  “Did you guys have a good Thanksgiving?” Emma asked, trying to make small talk as they paced down the hall.

  He gave a bitter bark of laughter. “The usual. Mom burned the turkey, and Dad threw a wineglass at her. Mads and I ended up sneaking out and getting Burger King.”

  She gave him a sympathetic look. Thayer’s family was at best volatile, and at worst downright abusive. “Sorry, Thayer. That sounds awful.”

  He shrugged. “It was par for the course around Casa Vega. And neither of us was in much mood for family time anyway.”

  Emma nodded. “Yeah. Mom and Dad cooked a big turkey dinner because they’d already bought the groceries and they didn’t want it to go to waste, but they should have just stuck everything in the freezer. No one had much appetite. Except Drake,” she added, smiling at the memory of the Great Dane, who’d casually sauntered past a countertop and inhaled a platter of sweet potatoes.

  The halls were mostly empty by now, with the exception of a few drama kids wearing black robes for the school productio
n of The Crucible. A pimply boy carrying a tuba hurried out of the music wing and disappeared through the doors leading to the football field.

  As they crossed the flagstones of a small courtyard, Emma heard a dark chuckle from a bench in the corner. It was Garrett, his gaze pinned sharply on her. He was alone, his gear bag slouched on the ground next to him. His eyes were hard and angry, his lips twisted with bitter amusement.

  “You’d better not let Landry catch you sneaking around all buddy-buddy,” he said, sneering. “Although I could stand to watch him kick your ass again, Vega. I should have done it myself ages ago.”

  “Mind your own business, man,” Thayer shot back. He stood with his legs planted wide and crossed his arms over his chest. Emma tensed next to him.

  “You’re not in charge of who I hang out with, Garrett,” she snapped, recalling Laurel’s words. It sounded like he’d been more controlling than she would have guessed. Maybe, in the end, he hadn’t been able to control Sutton. Maybe it had driven him crazy.

  Garrett gave her a long, cool look, his smile broadening slowly. “You are a piece of work, you know that? It’s almost like you believe your own lies.”

  She drew in her breath sharply. Once she would have thought he was just referring to Sutton’s infidelity. But maybe he meant Emma’s lies about being Sutton.

  Thayer’s hands clenched into fists for a moment. Then he relaxed them, shaking his head slowly at Garrett. “Man, it’s over. This is pathetic even for you. Come on, Sutton.” He rested his hand gently on her back and steered her through the door to the athletics wing.

  Emma glanced at Thayer from the corner of her eye as they walked. His face was stormy, a brooding frown creasing his forehead.

  She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “You know Garrett knew about us, right?”

  Thayer nodded. “I had a feeling. He’s said some weird stuff to me since I got back.”

  “Weird stuff?”

  “Just macho bullshit. Watch my back, that kind of thing.” Thayer shrugged. “I brushed it off at first. We’ve never exactly been friends. But he cornered me at the school break-in party a few weeks ago, drunk off his ass. He was pretty aggressive.”

  Emma’s throat went dry. She stopped walking and touched his arm. He stared down at her fingers on his sleeve for a second too long, then glanced up to meet her eyes. “Thayer, do you remember anything at all about the face you saw through the windshield that night at Sabino?” she whispered. “Do you think it could have been Garrett?”

  “Garrett?” He blinked in surprise. “I don’t know. I really couldn’t see anything, it was so dark.” His brow furrowed. “Do you have some reason to think it was him?”

  “No, not other than how angry he’s been at both of us, I guess.” She sighed. “There are too many things in my life that don’t make any sense right now. I wish I had some answers.”

  They stopped in the sports lobby just outside of the locker rooms. Nisha’s senior portrait, blown up and framed with black velvet, hung on a corkboard next to the ticket office. In the picture her cobalt dress was bright against her dark skin. She gave the camera a serious look, obviously trying to appear like the dignified future Ivy Leaguer she imagined herself to be, but the photographer had somehow caught the ghost of a smile on her lips. All around the picture, people had pinned notes and cards, poems and song lyrics and messages in pink sparkly pen that Nisha would have mocked as far too girly.

  “It’s just so awful,” Emma whispered. Thayer nodded, the corners of his mouth turning downward as he looked at the picture, too. She sighed. “Well, I’d better get changed. Thanks for . . . for walking with me.”

  Thayer turned to look at her again, his gaze searching and intense, as though he was seeking something in her features but didn’t know what. Emma ducked away, suddenly afraid of Thayer’s hazel eyes.

  “It’s weird,” he said quietly. “Something about you has really changed. Sometimes it feels like you turned into a whole new person while I was away.”

  “Maybe I grew up,” Emma replied, her heart lurching nervously. “Or maybe you did, and you’re just seeing me differently.”

  Thayer shook his head. “I don’t know much, Sutton, but I know nothing can change the way I feel about you.”

  Relief flooded my body—the boy I loved so desperately still loved me back. But it was tempered by a deep feeling of sadness. Thayer had so many more memories of our time together, whereas all I had were a few scattered scenes. Would I ever get those memories back?

  Emma’s breath felt strangely short. She glanced up at Thayer’s wounded and confused expression, then looked quickly away. “I have to go.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “See you, Sutton.” He turned toward the glass double doors and walked away from her.

  She and I watched his retreating form together. I wanted to call out and stop him, to somehow let him know that I’m still here—and still in love with him. But he didn’t look back, not even once.

  6

  THE CANYON’S SECRET

  The humming sound of potters’ wheels provided a soothing background noise as Emma sat in the ceramics studio on Wednesday morning, struggling to attach a handle to a lopsided pitcher. She dipped her fingers into the bucket of slip she’d dredged from the vat at the back of the room and dabbed it carefully on her project. Madeline wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  “You got some of that stuff on your jeans,” she said, pointing to a splotch on Emma’s thigh.

  “Ugh. That’d better come out in the wash,” Emma grumbled, though she had bigger problems right now than cleaning Sutton’s J Brands.

  “So where’s Laurel?” Madeline asked, looking around.

  “I guess she decided to skip.” Emma shrugged. It wasn’t like Laurel to cut class without the other Lying Game girls, but a lot of things had been weird lately.

  “I wish I’d gone with her.” Mads sighed as her mug collapsed yet again. “I can’t stand much more of this.”

  Charlotte put her bowl down, reaching over to pat Madeline on the back.

  “Here’s something to look forward to,” Charlotte said, smiling. “My mom decided we’re going to Barbados for Christmas. And of course Daddy’s on board. He’s been on his best behavior ever since Mom found a naughty text on his phone. Anyway, I refused to go unless I could take friends. So pack your bags, bitches, because we’re heading to the land of rum and Rihanna.”

  Madeline’s jaw fell open. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Do I ever joke about vacations?” Charlotte winked. “In a few short weeks we’ll be lying on the beach, drinking out of coconuts, and watching boys on surfboards.”

  “Oh my God.” Madeline gave an uncharacteristic squeal, her eyes bright. “I am so in!”

  Charlotte looked at Emma expectantly. “Sutton? What about you?”

  Emma could barely process Charlotte’s invitation. The only “beach” she had ever been to was a fake one at a water park outside Vegas, with screaming children and a lazy river that was probably full of pee. Images of white-sand beaches and brilliant blue water immediately danced through her mind. But then she hesitated. “I’ll have to ask Mom and Dad,” she said.

  That seemed confirmation enough for Charlotte. “Oh, you’ll convince them. You always do.” She laughed in excitement, launching into a description of the private house her parents had rented, the beach bars that served piña coladas every afternoon, and the celebrities who would be going incognito. “Rob Pattinson for sure, he’s always there,” Char was saying, but Emma wasn’t really listening.

  The truth was, she’d been looking forward to celebrating the holidays with the Mercers. She’d never had much of a real Christmas before. A few of her foster families had tried to celebrate the holidays but never really made Emma feel welcome or included. There were usually some impersonal presents from a charity drive—three years in a row, she had received cheap desk sets from well-meaning donors—and maybe a dry turkey dinner.


  Emma was sure that Christmas with the Mercers would be different. She didn’t care about presents, but she couldn’t wait to see the living room bright with tinsel, fragrant with the smell of a tree. She imagined Laurel playing carols on the baby grand; Mr. Mercer singing along, totally off-key; Mrs. Mercer wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and a Santa hat as she baked sugar cookies. They would hang stockings and ornaments and drink eggnog by the fire—even though it probably wouldn’t get below fifty degrees in Arizona. She knew it was hokey, but she didn’t care. She’d never had a hokey Christmas to get tired of.

  Plus, Ethan was here, not in Barbados. And she’d always wanted to corner a boy under the mistletoe.

  At that moment the door to the pottery studio flew open, slamming against the bookcase behind it. Charlotte’s bowl slipped from her hand and shattered on the ground. The school’s front office manager, a kindly woman named Peggy, stood in the doorway. Her normally neat graying hair was coming loose from its bun. She glanced wildly around until she caught sight of Mrs. Gilliam, then strode quickly across the room to whisper something in her ear. Mrs. Gilliam’s owl-like eyes fell on Emma.

  “Sutton, you’re needed in the office.” Mrs. Gilliam was clearly trying to be calm, but she’d gone pale. Her bangles jangled discordantly as she gestured in Emma’s direction. “I’ll clean up your station; don’t worry about that. You just go.”

  Emma’s heart sank with dread. “What’s going on?” she managed to ask through her choked throat.

  Peggy spoke up this time, her nasal voice hushed. “Your parents are here to see you. Something has happened.”

  Laurel, Emma and I thought at once. Something had happened to Laurel. That explained why she hadn’t been in class.

  Emma was on her feet without fully realizing it, tearing through the door and out into the hallway. “Walk, don’t run, Miss Mercer,” Peggy called out behind her, but Emma took off at breakneck speed, past the SAY NO TO DRUGS! and WILDCAT PRIDE posters, her shoes sliding dangerously on the scuffed linoleum. She turned a corner and hip-checked a recycling bin, sending it rolling across the floor, but didn’t stop.